Walls & Wings - The Invisible Girl
by spacebubble
Summary: In a future where most people can fly and cats are a rarity, a nondescript resident of Hope House for the hopeless discovers that although Lucy is shunned as a "leadfoot" she has the surprising ability to become invisible. But she soon finds out that her power is more interesting -and more dangerous- than flying ever could be. And that certain people will do anything to get to her.
1. The Chapter Before The First

The Chapter Before The First:

The Master Remembers

In a vast and sparkling city, a city in the centre of the universe, one little man remembered something big.

He was very old, this little man, his full name forgotten over the years. He called himself The Master. His specialities were numerous, and included psychology, criminology, mathematics, history, aerodynamics, zoology and gardening. He also collected beer cans.

Other than the delivery boy who left his groceries at the back door, The Master hadn't seen anyone in at least ten years. It was just as well, since a hair-growing experiment had left him with a head full of long green grass. Also, he didn't like clothing, so he wore ladies' snap-front house dresses and rubber flip-flops with white socks. He spent much of his time fiddling in his workshop, feeding the many kittens that popped out of his pockets and looking things purchase on ebay.

Today he stood in front of his blackboard - which was covered in mathematical equations - tugging at a dandelion that had poked up through the lawn on his scalp. Suddenly his eyes widened. He scrawled a few more equations. Yes! He saw it. Right there, in his many calculations.

A child.

He stared at the figures dancing across the board, his forehead creased with annoyance. How on earth could he have forgotten such a thing, such a _person,_ existed, was beyond him. But the Master simply didn't like people. Not their company, not their conversation, _nada_. Anything having to do with people made the roots of his teeth pulse with irritation. And here on his blackboard was proof that a very particular sort of person had been born into a cruel and stupid world filled with cruel and stupid people.

Frankly, The Master wanted nothing to do with any of them.

But facts are facts and The Master liked to keep his straight. Shaking his head at himself, he sat down at his lab table, pulled his notebook out from underneath a large tabby cat and made a few notes. "Approx. once every century or so," he wrote. "Wall. Usually, but not always, female."

After scribbling these notes, The Master smoothed out a rumpled map. "One lived here," he muttered to himself, putting a dot on the map, "another here. This one born there and moved here." When he finished plotting points, he connected the dots, then took out a protractor to measure the angles between. Lost in thought, he tapped his teeth with his pencil. Something wasn't quite adding up. Where could this girl be?

After working for two frustrating hours, he walked over to a filing cabinet, unlocked the bottom drawer and pulled out what looked like a human hand mounted upright on a black marble stand. The Answer Hand. He did not like to consult The Answer Hand and very rarely did. The Hand, being a hand, could not speak and was therefore difficult to comprehend. (It knew the sign language alphabet but had to spell everything out. And it talked in circles.) The Master could not deny, however, that The Answer Hand often had the answers to perplexing questions, which was why The Master had purchased it (on ebay of course, from some guy in Enca).

He put the mounted Hand on top of the table, pointed at the equations on the blackboard and then to the map.

"Where?" he asked.

The Answer Hand's fingers drummed thoughtfully on its marble base. After a few moments, The Hand began rambling about a number of irrelevant topics: the average rainfall in Caelum, the merits of Minstrel wine, the fat content of hot dogs.

"Focus!" barked The Master, pointing again at the blackboard.

Insulted, The Answer Hand made a waving gesture at the map. When The Master still didn't understand, The Hand bent at the wrist and finger and crawled across the table, dragging its heavy base behind it. It grabbed the pencil from The Master, scrawled a star on the map and gave the pencil back.

 _There, that's where,_ The Hand signed. _Happy now?_

"Ive got to hand it to you," grumbled The Master sarcastically. He had the distinct feeling that this recent discovery was only going to cause him trouble. Plus there was the fact that one of his cats, Marlais- Strong willed, even for a cat - had somehow escaped the safety of his apartment and, despite the flyers he had paid a company to hang around the city, no one had called. In his book, wandering girls and wayward cats added up to a whole lot of unhappiness.

Someone knocked on the door. The Master scowled, as there hadn't been a knock on the door since, well, the last time there was a knock, possibly months before, years even. The Master ignored it.

The knock came again, louder. "I only take deliveries Tuesdays and Sundays. Go away," grumbled The Master. "Go, go, go." There was a crash as somebody kicked in the door, splintering the jamb. The Master, always peeved when he was disturbed, was especially rankled. He liked the door the way it was.

Two men strolled down the steps leading to The Master's rooms. One was handsome, with thick dark hair and a fair complexion. The other was impossibly tall and dark, a vicious and terrible scar like a huge zipper running diagonally across his face. Both looked familiar, but The Master couldn't remember where he had seen them before. A book? A newspaper? And there was something about the way the scarred man moves. Not walking so much as drifting or floating.

"Master," said the handsome one cheerfully. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion."

They were, now that he'd had a few moments to consider it, rather intimidating. "I have important work to do," said The Master, sounding not the least bit frightened, though his knobby knees had gone as weak as egg noodles.

The handsome man stared pointedly at his head. "I see that you have some dandelion issues." He patted the pockets of his overcoat. "I might have some Weedwhacker around here somewhere."

"What do you want?" The Master made more notes in his book: "Two scary men. Need weapon. Sharp pencil?"

The handsome man hesitated, as if waiting for The Master to say something else. "I'm being rude," he said. "Im Zeref Dragneel."

 _How do you do, Emperor Spriggan?_ The Answer Hand signed politely.

The Master dropped his pencil to the floor. "Spriggan Dragneel?"

"In the flash," said the man, obviously proud that his reputation had preceded him. "This is my associate, Mr A."

"Acnologia," said The Master. Acnologia grinned. The Master could see his teeth were sharp, unlike those of a human. And he could also see that the scar was not _like_ a zipper, it _was_ a zipper. The silver tab on his forehead glittered when he moved. The Master decided he would not like Mr A. unzip his face. No, that wouldn't be pleasant; he was sure of it.

Spriggan reached out and plucked the dandelion from the top of The Master's head, making the man wince. "We're a little curious."

"Yes, you are. I mean, what about?" said The Master. He was trying not to focus on The Answer Hand , which was busily erasing the star it had marked on the map and putting another star somewhere in Desierto.

"About your research of course." Spriggan eyed the cats warily, his lip curling up with disgust. "I thought these animals were rare."

"They are," The Master said and pulled a rambunctious marmalade kitten out of the pocket of his house dress. "Just not here." He placed the kitten directly on top of the map, obscuring what had been drawn on it.

"Hmmm…" said Spriggan, before turning the notebook around to read what The Master had scribbled there. He smiled when he came to the last bit about the scary men.

"I do lots of research,"said The Master. "What are you interested in? Zoology? Psychology?"

"Oh, a scrap of this, a shred on that," Spriggan said. "I'm especially interested in this curious little thing that happens once every century or more. This very odd thing. Do you know the thing im talking about?"

"Yes," said The Master, wondering how the man had found out about it. He sighed. "You want to know when it happened, I suppose."

"I already know when it happened. I need to know where and I need to know who. And," he said, turning the notebook back to face The Master, "I need to know now."

" _Who?_ I don't know _who_ it is," said The Master. "How would I know that until she shows herself? Er, I mean, until she doesn't show herself rather. As for where, I can't be sure…"

"You can't?" said Spriggan. Using his thumb and forefinger, he lifted the tiny kitten form The Master's map.

"Look on this map, Mr A. A star!"

"Oh, that?" said The Master. "You mustn't pay any attention to that. That map marks the sites of vampire nests around the city, that's all."

"Vampires? Tsk, tsk, Master. I would think that you would be able to come up with something more creative than that." Spriggan took that map, folded it and slipped it into his breast pocket. "That takes care of where. Now I need to know who."

"I'm telling you, that map is meaningless to you."

"I think The Master needs a little encouragement, don't you, Mr A.?"

 _Uh-oh_ , signed The Answer Hand.

"But…" stammered The Master.

"Please," said Spriggan. "I know that you're a genius. Everyone knows that. I also know that given the proper motivation, you'll find a way to get the information I need, won't he, Mr A?"

The big man smiled with his razor teeth and clasped the silver tab of his zipper, drawing downwards ever so slowly.

The Master had been correct.

Not pleasant. Not pleasant at all.


	2. The Girl Who Wasn't There

Chapter 1

The Girl Who Wasn't There

Lucy had no idea what made her do it. One minute she was surrounded by a sea of snoring girls, staring at a broken lock on a dirty window. The next minute she was racing through the city like an ostrich on fire.

She ran many blocks before she stopped, shocked at herself. She - Lucy the gutless, Lucy the helpless, Lucy the useless - has escaped from Hope House for the Homeless and Hopeless, even if it was for a night. In front of her, the city snaked out like an amusement park. Lucy drank in as much as she could: the glittering lights of the buildings, the laughter of people floating by, the bleating horns of the taxis, the scent of car exhaust tinged with tomato sauce.

It was this last that drew her to the section of the city called Little Italy, to Luigi's Restaurant. She loitered in front of it, catching her breath as she watched the diners inside sip wine and twirl spaghetti on their forks. People-watching was he favourite thing to do and she was very good at it. It seemed to Lucy that everyone was either a watcher or a doer and the watchers were greatly outnumbered. However, there were benefits to watching. For example, inside Luigi's a couple drifted from their table, forgetting package of leftovers, which was scooped up by the young waiter.

Lucy ran around the restaurant to the alley behind, crouched next to the garbage cans and waited for the waiter to come out with the evening's trash Someone kicked a can down a nearby sidewalk and its tinny clang echoed in the alley. "You wanna mess? You wanna mess?" she heard. "Yeah, _boyee_ , let's mess!" The voices got louder as a bunch of teenagers flew by the alleyway, throwing long shadows on the greasy pavement. Lucy smiled to herself. The noise was a part of the music of the city and she could listen all night long if she wanted.

She leaned her head back against the brick and looked up at the sky, plush and grey like a dome of fur, brightened like the lights from the skyscrapers and billboards. An occasional Wing darted high overhead, looping and weaving around the buildings, but it was nothing like daytime. In the daytime people hopped and bounced and flew all over the place, even if they could only get an inch or two off the ground. Just one more reason to enjoy the dark. Only a few showy Wings rather than the thousands of them, thrilled with their own stupid tricks.

Airheads, the whole bunch. She was not jealous of them. Not one bit.

The metal door of the restaurant opened and the young waiter hopped out,swinging two garbage bags. Even with the garbage bags, the waiter was trying to fly. He jumped straight up, but the weight of the bags and his obvious lack of talent ensured that his feet lifted no more than a yard from the ground. Lucy muffled a giggle with the back of her hand as the waiter jumped his way over to the Dumpster, looking very much like a giant, ungainly frog. He opened the Dumpster and tossed the trash bags he turned and leaped into the air, this time clearing the top of the Dumpster before landing. Lucy was sure the waiter - only a few years older than Lucy herself - had hopes of being a great Wing, dreams of joining the Wing team or maybe competing in the city wide festival and taking home the Golden Eagle. She wondered when he would realise that his dream was just that, a dream. When he would see that most of his life would be spent scuttling closer to the earth.

The waiter dropped in a crouch, panting. He looked around, to the left and to the right. Lucy stiffened, keeping herself completely still behind the garbage cans that hid her. He squinted staring at something. A mouse, running alongside the brick. The waiter jumped up again, crashing to the ground in front of the mouse. It gave a tiny squeal and ran the other way. The waite did it again, jumping and crashing, terrifying the little animal, laughing as he did so. Lucy waited until he sprang up a third time before reaching out from her hiding place, snatching up the mouse and tucking it into her sleeve.

The waiter landed, his grin turning to a frown, wondering where his victim had gone. Then, shrugging, he veered around and went back to the restaurant , slamming the door behind him.

Lucy rested her hand on the pavement. The mouse crawled out from the safety of her sleeve and ran into the darkness."Bye," said Lucy, watching as it disappeared through a hole in the brick. She supposed she was lucky that the waiter hadn't seen her, but then again, she was not the type of girl people noticed - she was too thin, to pale, to quiet. Sometimes people looked right through her as if she weren't there at all, their eyes sliding off her as if she were made of something too slippery to see. _Nobody, nowhere._ When she was little, it made her feel lonely. Now she only felt grateful.

She stretched and walked over to the Dumpster. After throwing open the lid, she dug around until she found what she was looking for: _four_ foil-wrapped packages of leftovers. Ravioli, lasagna, salad and a huge hunk of gooey chocolate cake.

If only the other kids from Hope House for the Homeless and Hopeless were here, watching, maybe they wouldn't think so little of her. But they, like everyone else, believed flying was their ticket to fame and fortune, and thought Lucy was horribly afflicted, maybe even contagious. Mrs Terwilliger, the matron of Hope House, had taken her to a specialist once. First he thumped her knees with a rubber mallet to check her reflexes. He had her breathe in and out very quickly, hyperventilating, to see if the added oxygen might lift her off the ground like a soap bubble. Then he strapped her into a quilted jacket with huge feathers and had her run around the office flapping her arms. Finally, he said: "Not everybody can, you know, and most don't do it well. In any case, it's nothing to be ashamed of. As a consolation, he gave Lucy a red and white beanie with a propeller on top. Mrs Terwilliger told the kids the people had different talents and they should celebrate them all. "Leadfoot!" the kids yelled as soon as Mrs Terwilliger left the room. "Freak!"

Lucy smiled bitterly to herself. If they were such big deals why hadn't they noticed the broken lock? Why hadn't they thought to sneak out of Hope House at night? Why Weren't they having dinner at Luigi's? No, this was hers and hers alone. "No man is an island," Mrs Terwilliger had told her. "One must learn to get along." But this sparkling city was an island and it got along fine, didn't it?

Just as she picked up a pocket of ravioli with her fingers, she heard a sound, one she had only heard on TV.

"Meow."

She turned, sure that someone was playing a trick on her. But it was no trick. A cat, as plush and grey as the sky above, padded down the alleyway and sat a few feet away from her.

Lucy dropped her ravioli gaping. She'd seen pictures of cats in books and magazines, of course, but Lucy couldn't imagine where this one came from. Perhaps it was lost? But how could it be? Nobody le a cat outside; they could get hurt or sick or worse. Plus, there was the matter of people's regular pets: birds. If people saw a cat, especially without a leash, they'd call the police. What if it attacked an old lady's budgie or a businessman's parrot?

The cat regarded her with pure black eyes that shone in the dark of the alley. "Who belongs to you?" Lucy murmured. Cats chose their owners rather than the other way around; everyone knew that. This cat surely had an owner, someone who liked exotic animas, someone who worked in a zoo maybe. Lucy glanced around at the buildings that rose along either side of the alley. There were lights in some of the windows, but Lucy saw no worried faces in them, no franti calls.

"Meow," the cat said and took a few steps closer.

"Hey," said Lucy. "Are you hungry?" he looked at the food in the packages and nudged the one with the lasagne. The cat sniffed, then began to eat in big gulps.

"You _are_ hungry, aren't you?" Lucy said. "Well, you and me both." Keeping her eyes on the cat, she reached out and grabbed the package containing cake. Lucy ate like that cat did, in huge greedy bites.

The cat finished, right down to the noodles. Then it did something totally unexpected. Its walked over to Lucy, reached up with a grey paw and patted Lucy's cheek, once, twice, three times. Lucy's eyes opened wide. "No, no, no!" she said. "I can't take care of you! I'm, just an orphan."

"Meow," said the cat. It yawned, climbed into her lap and began to make an odd rumbling sounds. _She's purring_ , thought Lucy, who had read about it but never experienced it.

Lucy stared down at the was she supposed to do now?Where would she keep it? What would she feed it? She shifted her weight and her arm brushed against the cat's leg. So soft. Hesitantly, Lucy ran a gentle finger between the cat's ears, the way she would pet a friendly bird. The cat closed its eyes and sighed, pressing its head into her palm.

Just then, the back door of the restaurant flew open and the cat sprang from Lucy's lap. The waiter marched out the open door carrying another bag of garbage.

"Whoa!" he said. Lucy froze, wishing with all her being she was nothing more than one of the bricks on the wall. A queer shiver went through her.

But the waiter didn't even glance in her direction. With his foot he prodded the open packages of food. Then he saw that cat standing there, back arched and tail spiked. "What the heck?" Where did you come from?"

"Meow," the cat said

"Meow is right," said the waiter. "Here, kitty."

Since she was so close to him, Lucy could see that his brown eyes were hard and shiny, his smile cold. But why wasn't he looking at her? Why was he acting as if he couldn't see her? She was sitting right in front of him, right out in the open! Maybe he was just ignoring her like everyone else. The thought made her angry and she reached out for the cat.

 _What was wrong with her hands?_

She could see them, just barey. It was as if she were wearing gloves exactly the colours and textures of the alley itself: the black of the pavement, the red of the brick, the pink and white of the graffiti. And when she moved them, they changed to match the background. She touched her face, feeling the heat of her skin beneath her fingertips. If her hands looked like this, what did her face look like?

The waiter bent towards the cat. "Come on now," he said. "I know someone who'd pay a lot of money to get a load of you." He lunged for the cat, grabbing it by its front paws. The cat howled. "Shut up, you stupid thing," the waiter said. The animal hissed, clawing with its back legs.

"Ow!" the waiter yelled, but didn't let go. Carrying the wildly gyrating cat, he took one huge leap over the garage can on the other side of the alley and threw the cat inside. He quickly slammed the cover down and held it. The garbage can bucked and bounced, and the waiter kicked it. "Shut up!" he yelled.

Lucy was furious but she didn't know what to do. The waiter wasn't big, but he was probably stronger than she was. And he could fly, even if he couldn't do it that well. She unfolded her legs and saw that they were exactly like her hands, nearly invisible. If he couldn't see her, then…

The waiter kicked the garbage can again and the terrified mewls of the cat were too much for Lucy to bear. Though she had never done anything like this before, though she thought her heart would burst like a water balloon, she crept behind the waiter. Grabbing the waistband of his trousers, she yanked upward as hard as she could.

The waiter never flew higher than he did that moment and he never would again. Lucy popped the lip off the garbage can. The cat vaulted into her arms, instantly becoming the colour of the air, the colour of nothing. Two of them, Lucy and cat, Raced from the alley, just as if they had wings of their own.

 **Heyo, t'is I.**

 **These chapters take a little longer to get done than I had anticipated. I had originally hoped to post every two weeks but it looks like it'll become monthly. So to let everyone know, I plan on posting on the first sunday morning of each month, which will be saturday evening for most people I think? Anyway, hope you enjoyed xx**


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